


the way to the heart.

by waywardway



Series: the stomach is the way to the heart. [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Feelings Realization, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-28 15:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardway/pseuds/waywardway
Summary: in all lifetimes, i would choose you.(aka. the haikyuu and shokugeki no soma crossover au that nobody asked for and yet received)





	1. worthless pride.

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome again! this time it's a bit different from what i've done before, but i hope you enjoy regardless :]

At the tender age of twenty-five, Tetsuro Kuroo was already in talks of inheriting his father’s food business. A year later, the hushed conversations became a reality. Kuroo’s father had retired reluctantly and completely due to recommendations from various top health professionals that his work was accelerating, not aiding, his condition.

Everyone called it a food business, for its expanse was so broad it couldn’t be restricted to simply “the chain of restaurants” or “the academy” or “the factories.” Many in the Tetsuro Company had their doubts that Kuroo would be able to swiftly take the reins and keep operations running as usual. His father was a genius. His father was a worker. His father had built a corporation from nothing and managed to make it one of the most well-known and respected companies in Japan.

How could a twenty-six-year-old hold a light to that, let alone compete?

But, nonetheless, the transfer happened in the winter.

Kuroo had a lot to prove.

***

“Realized the scope of your incompetence yet?” A smug voice paired with an equally smug expression ushered in his unsolicited visitor.

“_Iwaizumi-chan_, I’m busy trying to run a company. Don’t you have carrots to wash?” The retort is just as biting, glowering at his guest for just a second before returning to his paperwork.

His _stacks_ of paperwork.

He was drowning in paperwork.

“My visit is business, not pleasure.”

“Did you make an appointment with Futakuchi-san?”

“Do we really need appointments to see each other?”

Irritatingly true. Iwaizumi was currently occupying the position of head chef at the Tetsuro Company, and was leading their oldest establishment, _Leaves_, the most successful Asian-fusion four-star restaurant on the peninsula. Occasionally he would teach a class or two at the academy, where he and Kuroo had first gotten acquainted. Iwaizumi was his oldest friend and rival. Somehow the universe managed to play a nasty little trick on them, and had given them positions the other desired more. They had simultaneously lost and gained because of their rivalry. For Kuroo, running the company was more out of obligation rather than will. This was his father’s lifeline. He couldn’t let it deteriorate, nor could he entrust it into the hands of someone outside of the family. But running a company, and especially being _new_ at running a company, meant that there was very little time for anything else. Very little, if any time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked a meal, thought up a recipe, or attempted a new flavour combination. Living at the family estate, he didn’t need to. Top chefs attended to his taste buds, servants attended to his every whim, and the world was at his feet.

He hated it.

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, was more apt at fulfilling the role of imposing leader. In the time between his graduation from Tetsuro, the cooking academy which the Tetsuro family owned, and now, he hadn’t stopped cooking. He went from busting his ass as a line chef, moved up to sous, and then was finally promoted to head chef two years ago. Cooking was in his blood. His hands didn’t feel quite right idle. It was a lot of bustle, it was a lot of people, it was a lot of interaction—cooking, as unfortunate as it was, couldn’t be accomplished alone. It wasn’t supposed to be a solitary activity. Not the cooking he was trained to do, anyway. Not the cooking he had done for the past near-decade of his career.

Sometimes Iwaizumi thought of Kuroo, and the direction his life had taken, and thought that Kuroo really was a lucky fucker.

Sometimes Kuroo thought of Iwaizumi, and the direction _his_ life had taken, and thought that Iwaizumi must be happy.

Both were wrong.

“What business is oh-so-urgent that you’re interrupting my ninth hour signing off on corporate policies? Please, humour me.”

Kuroo’s office wasn’t lavish. It wasn’t extravagant. That had never really aligned with his taste. The walls were a rich, finely-aged wine red. The furniture was black. No decorations were hung on the wall, placed atop the (very real) fireplace, the tables, or his desk. Just the bare minimum, and nothing extra. It was very Kuroo, Iwaizumi mused. It wasn’t the first time he had stepped foot in to his office, but each time he marveled at Kuroo’s ability to take a room and turn it into a pit of _Want to escape from here? Me too_.

“It’s that time of year again.” The voice in which the words were said clued Kuroo in. He was bemused at Iwaizumi’s irritation.

“Oh, yes. The new hires.” Part of Iwaizumi’s job as head chef involved accepting, monitoring, and then weeding out the new hires of the year. Too many, if he was being truthful.

“I’ve looked over most of them. One seriously needs your approval. I can’t.”

“You can’t…?”

“I can’t decide.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Is the great Iwaizumi-chan starting to lose his faculties so early on in his budding career?”

“Shove a fork down your throat.” A flimsy piece of paper is thrown atop what Kuroo had been working on. It was a basic reference sheet for a one _Eita Semi_. A quick skim allowed him to gather first impressions: experience? Not too bad. Education? Good, he supposed. Work experience? Impressive for his age (just a year younger than both Kuroo and Iwaizumi). “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with this? It doesn’t look bad.”

“Yeah. I thought so, too. ‘Till I met the guy.”

“Listen, not everyone can take your jabs and criticisms. I don’t know if you know this or not, but your abrasive as hell, and that usually doesn’t sit well with most pe—”

“Go to the east Tokyo location tomorrow night and see him for yourself. You be the judge.”

***

Only Iwaizumi would be able to pull him from his office on a Friday afternoon. Futakuchi nearly had a heart attack when he was told that he would need to cancel everything Kuroo had on his schedule from morning until evening, without being given an explicit explanation. He swore he could hear Futakuchi curse him under his breath. If Iwaizumi had been in charge, a comment like that would have earned Futakuchi a nasty punch and an immediate termination of employment.

Kuroo wasn’t quite the Spartan dictator. His father had always told him that he needed strong people by his side, people who wouldn’t be afraid to correct him and grow _with_ him. His father had the philosophy that too many adorers led you astray. Futakuchi was certainly an employee that wouldn’t be pushed around. But, then again, Kuroo couldn’t let him forget who was actually in charge.

“Just for that, I’ll see you tomorrow morning bright and early at five-thirty.”

The car ride to the restaurant was one of his only chances at recovering some of the sleep he was losing on a daily, hourly, secondly basis. Though just half an hour, and probably laughable to the average Joe, to Kuroo it was a blessing. Half an hour of peace, without having anything to sign, approve, look over, read, present, or discuss?

There was nothing closer to pure bliss.

But that bliss had to come to an end. At three in the afternoon, carefully planned after the lunch rush but before real prep would begin for the dinner rush, he walked into one of the newer _Leaves_ establishments. He was greeted with bows with every step he took, and despite his discomfort at such an over-exaggerated and undue display of mock respect, he made sure to greet each and every single employee before making his way to the kitchen.

Automatically, without any direction, he could tell who this Eita Semi was. Everyone else with half a brain and a dose of seriousness for their career knew that outer appearance was a crucial factor for new hires looking to get an in with elite companies. This meant a few things, including non-dyed hair, no piercings, no tattoos, no unnecessary jewelry, and clean fingertips. This man had the brightest ash-brown hair (bright perhaps only because he was surrounded by those with dark hair in comparison) Kuroo had ever seen from an employee, a distinctive tattoo behind his ear and a smaller one on his forearm. His aura was unlike the usual new hires, too. Usually they were a bit panicked, a bit anxious, and whenever Kuroo so much as approached them, started to fidget nervously.

Kuroo wasn’t intimidating. Iwaizumi always begged to differ. Kuroo was a decent guy, he was far nicer than Iwaizumi ever wanted to be, that was for sure. But he was tall, and had an undeniable presence that made him simultaneously unapproachable and menacing.

He guessed that that was why none of his father’s employees had the gumption to say to his face what they were thinking in their heads and gossiping about in break rooms.

“You there.”

His voice broke the rhythm of the work in the kitchen. A knife clattered onto the ground, dropped by one of the line workers, followed by a dozen apologies and a ferocious glare courtesy of the Eita Semi. They all bowed. Semi less than others. The face of Kuroo wasn’t unknown to anyone in the company, no matter rank or status. The chairman’s son, after all, was the most recognized after his father.

“Mind coming with me for a second?”

“I have work to do.” Curt. To the point. Annoyed, even. The busboys gave each other anxious glances.

“So do I. Follow me.” An audible sigh breaks the silence, but the knife held in his left hand is carefully placed onto his cutting board, wiping off his hands on his apron, and exiting the kitchen. Not before he gave orders, though, so the rest of the staff could cover for him while he was being rudely ejected from his place of work.

Kuroo is maneuvering to the back of the restaurant, looking for a crevice of space away from prying eyes and curious ears. He manages to find what appears to be a manager’s office, unoccupied, and ushers Semi inside. Up close, he could tell what Iwaizumi was concerned about. New hires of the Tetsuro Company always felt as they had to prove that they belonged there—apparently the vigorous screening system wasn’t enough. They were serious about their work, and showed it. They were polite, albeit somber, dedicated, and driven. They wanted approval.

Semi, clearly, didn’t. He seemed mildly annoyed that he was being pulled from his work space, even if it was by someone so high up. His expression was icy, barriers built up so high it engulfed him. Brown eyes pierce through his own. This was the aura of a man who wouldn’t back down.

“What’s with the look of contempt? That’s hardly the way to look at the chairman of the company that’s paying you.”

“It’s not contempt.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were upset with me.”

“What reason would I have to be upset with the chairman of the company that’s paying me?”

Now, this was a puzzle.

“I’m sure you know, but you’re on a probationary period until March. If you manage to stick it out, we’ll consider full-time employment.”

“I know. It was in the hundred-page tree-killing contract sent to me.”

“…Then I’m sure you also know that you need my and the head chef’s approval for said full-time employment.”

“Was that not written in bold on page four?”

“Then explain to me why you managed to concern our lovely head chef, and now me too, all in the span of the four days you’ve started working here.”

Something flashes across Semi’s gaze.

This really was a puzzle.

This opportunity was one that others would kill for. The Tetsuro Company had prestige, sure. But it also guaranteed employment at any restaurant worth a damn. Moreover, the company took care of its employees, with benefits packages second to none. If Kuroo fired Semi now, there would be at least three-hundred others who would beg, _beg_, to take his place.

So why?

“Honestly speaking, _chairman_, I don’t care about you or your family. What matters to me is my job. I was hired to cook. That’s what I’m doing. The other classist formalities everyone else engages in isn’t any of my business.”

“Those ‘classist formalities’ are what allow these hard-working people the ability to keep their jobs and avoid being blacklisted. One bad word from us and you won’t find work anywhere within Japan.”

“Then I’ll go somewhere else.”

Kuroo should be angry. He should be furious. This company was his. This company would go down if he faltered. A single misstep and years of careful building would crumble at his fingertips. Who knew if his father would even survive such a shock?

He _should_ be angry.

But he wasn’t.

He was — _entertained_, for lack of a better term. People usually didn’t stand their ground with him. People caved. People apologized, even if they had done nothing wrong. People were pathetic.

But behind that, deep behind that, was a twinge of jealousy. Semi could afford to be selfish like this. He could afford to put everything on the line for his desire to cook. Kuroo could too, at one point in his life. And then suddenly that freedom was gone.

“Somewhere else? We have international outreach. Any company associated with ours wouldn’t take you, and they aren’t few and far between.”

“It’s probably shocking to the likes of you, but the entire world isn’t riveted but the wonder that is the Tetsuro Company. I’d find work. I could find work anywhere I wanted.”

“So then why here? If you hate these big-name corporations so much, why not go to a cute little mom-and-pop joint in the boonies away from capitalism and corporate greed?”

A smile tugged just at the corner’s of Semi’s mouth. “Pride. I wanted to see if I could get in. And I did. That means I have enough skill to get in anywhere else. I could quit this place tomorrow.”

Kuroo, his body moving way ahead of his mind’s ability to compute and process, takes a few steps and closes the gap between their frames. Just a little, not too much. Semi wasn’t quite as tall as he was, but his aura was definitely a contender for a fight.

“That’s a lot of baseless pride you have.”

“Then judge my food.”

The offer takes him aback. “What?”

“Judge my food. You, being the chairman, would know talent. I bet you that I can make you say that my food is worthy of my pride.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then I’ll let you fire me. I’ll let you and your company badmouth me all over town. And then,” Semi leans forward a little, clearly not nearly as intimidated by Kuroo as everyone else was, “I’ll quit cooking for good.”


	2. the eyes are the window to...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kuroo is not fine. not fine at all.

Kuroo wasn’t sure what this was, this feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was swirly, or, no, tingly? Fricative? Whatever the case, it was there. It had been there, barely noticeable, when he had had that unpleasant conversation with Semi in the restaurant kitchen, but it had grown in confidence, and now, with Semi practically staring him down with all of his 5’11-ish (an approximation that he made on the fly) stature, it was rattling at his ribcage and twisting him inside out.

What the hell was this?

“What does the opinion of the chairman of the company you hate so much mean to you?” He was a beat late in making that comeback. Kuroo was never a beat late. He could outtalk anyone, with wit and a certain smugness with his way with words. Never once had he been stumped, or physically incapable of snapping out ripostes.

Not until now, apparently.

“Is this you backing down?”

Perhaps Kuroo spends a second longer than usual staring at the enigma before him before he breaks the contact first, reaching past Semi for a pad of paper and a pen readily available upon the desk behind them. He scrawls an address (not his home address of course, he wasn’t a total lunatic), and thrust the pad into Semi’s chest.

“Tomorrow, nine in the morning. Be here. I’ll judge. Hopefully, afterwards, you aren’t _too_ defeated.” And with that, he leaves. He has to leave. He was genuinely afraid of what would happen if he stayed any longer.

***

“You _what_?”

Slender fingers are nonchalantly flipping through the menu of the ridiculously overpriced but highly praised Thai establishment, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Even after the bomb he just dropped. Semi really was something else, Futakuchi concluded. Something slightly terrifying and mind-numbingly stupid.

“Is the chicken good here?”

“Why? Why did you do this? Kuroo-san isn’t just some no-named dud brought from the shadows to run his father’s company. He’s studied at the academy since _pre-school _age, worked at restaurants all over the fucking world, was heralded by some of the top chefs, I don’t—”

“I appreciate you trying to recite his resume in an attempt to scare me, but that does nothing but excite the morbid _you could lose everything_ bone I have instead of a heart.”

“Semi, are you mentally unstable, or something? Are you having an episode? Because I’ll call Kuroo-san right now, tell him you didn’t have your medication, that you had temporarily lost your mind and control of all of your faculties, and you didn’t mean what you said. He’s a sympathetic guy, he’d cancel this whole thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s the deal with him, anyway?”

Futakuchi notices something, only flashing across Semi’s features for a split second, and probably too quick for someone who didn’t know him to notice. Mild interest. Curiosity. Just _what_ had transpired between these two?

“Didn’t I just tell you the ‘deal’ with him? Studied at the academy, worked at restaurants, top chefs—”

“I don’t care about his culinary deal. I mean what kind of person is he? You should know.”

“Why does that matter?” Futakuchi is treading on thin water, with what his words are implying. Semi had no interest except for cooking. Semi had no life outside of cooking. Everything else was white noise, an unwanted distraction. In all the years they have known each other, Semi hadn’t shown interest in anything else except for his own future.

“Because I need to know if he has the integrity to honestly judge my cooking, or if he will lie just to win a challenge.”

Futakuchi was skeptical of that answer. The whole thing was suspicious. “He will be an honest judge.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because, as you said, I should know what kind of person he is.”

“Well, then, give me some intel. Don’t let me go into battle unarmed and unknowing.”

“This isn’t battle, this is suicide.”

“This is _fun_.”

Futakuchi sighed, closed the menu, and flagged down a waiter. They ordered their respective meals, sure to result in a bill that skyrocketed, and only afterwards did Futakuchi decide to humour him. Whether Semi showing interest in Kuroo was a good or bad thing, he couldn’t tell yet. But he, and the rest of their friend group, had always been slightly concerned with Semi’s lack of interest in anything not involving a knife. For cooking, of course. Their friend group too was something they had to maintain. Semi would probably have been happy being a solitary cook until he died.

“Kuroo-san is what he seems. He works hard. He respects his family. He respects all of us who work for him, even the unnamed part-time receptionist that comes in on the occasional holiday or to fill in someone who called in sick. He’s never late, he doesn’t complain, and he always has his work personality on. That’s it.”

On Semi’s face was the smallest smirk. “Ah. I see now.”

“See what?” He’s asking, but after a moment, he thinks he can piece it together.

The thing that made Semi a promising chef was just one thing, a skill he had that set him apart from thousands and thousands of other promising chefs, a skill that some couldn’t master even with decades of experience. Semi could figure out what would satiate someone’s soul. Then, after that, he could follow through with it in terms of skill and ability.

It was the eyes, apparently.

Futakuchi still wasn’t exactly sure how the whole thing worked, Semi didn’t exactly bother with an in-depth, step-by-step verbal procedure on it. But Futakuchi knew it existed. He had Semi try it with him once, a few years ago.

It was incredible.

And annoying.

Semi, someone who didn’t care much for people, could see right into the depths of their being. No wall was impenetrable. No wall was too high. This was why he could challenge Kuroo, put everything on the line, and still be confident that he would make it out alive. Futakuchi was also sure it was some kind of self-sabotage thing, picking impossibly complex clients to see if he could find the limits of his own skill, test out theories. Semi was always daring the world to hurl its most demanding challenges.

“I had a suspicion when I spoke with him this afternoon. You just confirmed it. The thing with your stoic boss is that, on the outside, he’s still like water, but on the inside, I saw him screaming.”

“What?”

Semi didn’t elaborate. Soon after, their food arrived, and the topic of their discussion switched gears to something far more light-hearted.

***

At nine on the dot, Semi entered the room. The address on the paper given to him was to one of the kitchens the academy had on reserve for returning professors and notable alumni. Pristine, clean, and completely devoid of personal touch.

“You actually came.” The voice sounds as if it’s been filtered through a dozen or so sieves, so as to conceal its true emotion. Although, the more one tried to conceal emotion, the easier it was to recognize that it was there.

“Of course I did. How could I give up a chance to cook for the chairman of the company that so generously decided to employ me and my services?”

Kuroo is seated behind a table, fingers folded in front of him, looking rather bored. The table was positioned to overlook a vast kitchen space that included ovens, stoves, refrigerators, and other gizmos perfectly lined and polished. Surrounding the kitchen were cabinets, and, looking into them, they contained plates, cups and cutlery suitable for all kinds of dishes. The refrigerators were also stocked and practically overflowing with produce, meats and stocks. Everything had been prepared.

“Have you decided on what you’re going to make?”

“Indeed I have.”

“You have an hour. I have someplace else to be.”

“I won’t need an hour.”

Semi began getting to work immediately. He had brought his own set of knives, carefully stored in a black case, and gingerly handled. At first, his movements were languid. He was gathering ingredients, not with any haste (as if he was cooking by himself and _not_ being watched nor judged). Although Semi’s personality was rough and unforgiving, the way he held food and utensils betrayed any such sentiment. Each piece, each ingredient, each utensil was treated as if it was made of the finest gold.

Kuroo didn’t know how he felt about that.

Or, rather, he did, and he decided to put that thought out of his mind. Preferably for good.

Then the real cooking began. His hands were practically a blur. His body was graceful, smooth, and seemed to just float from one area to the next. His hands were precise and his concentration unwavering. Kuroo couldn’t _help_ but stare. He didn’t know how to explain watching Semi cook, except by one word.

Beautiful.

In a blink of an eye, a dish was placed before him. The proportions were perfect. The plate had been dressed impeccably with what was obviously an experienced hand. Kuroo couldn’t tell upon first glance what components entailed the dish because everything was glistening with a faint gold sheen. He looked up, expecting to see a smug expression and an even smugger face.

What he was met with was a face that was softer than anything he had seen by Semi thus far.

“Aren’t you going to explain it to me?”

“No.”

“That’s unorthodox.”

“I don’t need to explain anything. You’ll know when you taste it.”

“I’ll know what?”

“You’ll know why I made it.”

Kuroo was nervous. Why was he nervous? He had tasted thousands of dishes from incredibly talented chefs. This wasn’t new to him.

Then, why?

His fork is picked up, cautious and almost scared at what this dish would do. This dish was an entity in and of itself.

A respectable, bite-sized chunk is wriggled free. It’s tasted. And his world stops. For a second he actually couldn’t breathe. It was as if, for his whole life, he had been standing in an ocean with a dam built to protect him. And then the dam broke apart, violently and unrelenting. The fork dropped from his hand, clattered onto the plate and then the table next to it. He’s in a state of pure shock, although for him he can’t even tell what he’s doing or the kind of face he’s making.

Kuroo couldn’t even find the words to explain the dish. He couldn’t deduce it to its individual parts. He usually could with most dishes, figure out the base, the seasonings, some of the ingredients. No dish was too complex to break apart.

This dish was so unified he didn’t know what it was.

All he could think was that it was simultaneously warm and violent. Still and erratic. Calm and furious.

Semi doesn’t speak. He doesn’t interrupt. Food is an experience best left to be seen until the end. He’s watching Kuroo, he can _see_ the gears working into overdrive, but it lacks much of the fervour it had had yesterday afternoon.

Kuroo takes just one more bite. He’s breathless. He doesn’t take any more because, once again, he’s afraid. Who the hell was this character before him? He had just appeared out of nowhere, brought a jackhammer with him, and was tearing apart the resolve Kuroo had to spend _years_ building.

What, _who_, the hell was this?

Hands are placed onto his lap, only to hide the fact that they’re trembling. “Is this something you serve at the restaurant?”

He ignored the fact that his voice’s rigid structure seems to have fallen apart.

Chefs at the _Leaves_ establishment had a few restaurant-wide dishes they had to include in their menus, but other than those, were free to think up and serve suitable dishes of their own merit. This had to be something he had created at the restaurant.

“I thought of it yesterday.”

“Y-Yesterday?”

“Yes. After work.”

“You thought of this yesterday.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You thought of this yesterday evening, slept, and came here to make it.”

“Yes.”

Silence. A long silence settled between them. Semi was the first one to break it. “And your judgement?”

Judgement. Kuroo actually had to _judge_ this, even though his head was spinning in a million directions and he couldn’t think straight and it was like he was trying to keep everything inside of him from falling into an abyss. “You …”

“Hm?”

“This—you—you’re…”

He has to take a moment to catch his breath.

“Beautiful.”


	3. soul food.

“God, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Iwaizumi snorted as he reviewed some of the shortlisted applications to the academy. Although not technically his role, Kuroo trusted Iwaizumi’s judgement more than he could trust his own today.

He _still_ felt fluttery.

“I think so too. He asked you to judge his dish, not him.”

Kuroo sent Iwaizumi an ignored glare.

After not-so-smoothly uttering what was possibly the most embarrassing word he had ever uttered in his twenty-six years of existence, he had made a run for it.

Not literally, of course,

But he had excused himself. Semi, maybe it was Kuroo’s imagination, didn’t seem too happy with that. “You said you had an hour,” Semi had said. “I did. Now I don’t.”

And that was that. Semi didn’t try to stop him. Kuroo didn’t want him to.

Iwaizumi didn’t try to hold in his laughter when Kuroo explained the morning’s events. He supposed he couldn’t blame him. As the chairman of a company respected by more people than Kuroo could count in a lifetime, his behaviour was unrefined and unlike him. Truthfully, the reason why he had made such a hasty exit was because he wasn’t sure how to follow up with what he had said. Should he apologize, even though what he said was the genuine truth and honest judging of what Kuroo had experienced? Should he elaborate and try to redeem himself by explaining what he meant? Should he wait for Semi’s response? None of the options sounded good enough.

“I didn’t mean he was physically beautiful when I said that.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I _didn’t_. I just didn’t know how else to explain it. ‘This is good,’ ‘I liked it,’ it was all too weak.”

“Wow. Just how good was he?”

Kuroo couldn’t even put it into words. No words could possibly do it justice. “He’s something else.”

“Is he better than me?”

“Why do you sound like a jealous ex?”

“Shut up and answer the damn question.”

“I can’t compare him to you. The both of you are on different spectrums.”

“Oh, so he’s out of my league.”

“No, he’s on a different spectrum.”

“Is he better than you?”

This he could answer. “Without a doubt.”

“So, the casanova managed to worm his way into your heart _and_ mouth. Interesting.”

“Could you not make such crude references while I’m responding to inquiries?”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Consider this a formal denial, then.”

The back-and-forth was put on hold, courtesy of Iwaizumi, and his tone shifted into one much more serious. “You can’t like him, Kuroo.”

“I don’t.” The response was quick. Too quick.

“Admire him as a chef, and nothing more.”

“Are you implying that I would mess around with one of my staff, or doubting my ability as a chairman?”

“Neither. I’m just saying, don’t run into the arms of the first person who barrels through your walls.”

Kuroo pauses.

Maybe that was it.

What had shocked Kuroo the most was how the dish made him _feel_. The emotions themselves weren’t as important. It was the fact that the last time Kuroo felt those things, he was cooking for himself, free to do what he wished, and go whichever direction he chose. The last he felt those things, he was free. But he thought he had stored those feelings away for when he could realistically open them up again. For him, that would be after he retired, thirty, forty, fifty years from now. It wasn’t supposed to be a _year_ into the chairmanship.

“Uh, excuse me, Kuroo-san?” Futakuchi is popping his head into his office, looking somewhat distraught and angry. Iwaizumi and Kuroo both put the conversation on hold.

“Is something wrong? I don’t have anything scheduled until two.”

“There’s someone here to see you. _Insistent_ on seeing you, actually.”

“I don’t have any scheduled for right now.”

“Um, I don’t—he doesn’t have an appointment. He says he has to talk to you.”

Iwaizumi chimes in. “Tell him to fuck off, then. Kuroo isn’t a brothel whore willing and ready whenever someone beckons and calls.”

Futakuchi looks positively uncomfortable having this conversation with the chairman and head chef of the company that was signing his salary cheques. “He’s willing to wait until you’re free.”

Kuroo narrows his eyes a little. “Let me guess. Bright hair? Brown eyes? An annoying smartass?”

Futakuchi nods. Iwaizumi gives Kuroo a look. The glance Kuroo gives him in return is enough for him to know who he is, too.

“You told him that I’m not going to be free until tonight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let him wait.”

Iwaizumi and Futakichu both have the same expression. “E-Excuse me?”

“Tell him to wait. If he’s here, it must be his day off or he called in sick. He should be free. He wants to talk to me that bad, he can wait.”

***

Kuroo goes about his business as usual. In fact, he makes even more of a show of going about his business as usual. After a particularly nasty warning-filled scowl, Iwaizumi left an hour later. He had five private meetings to attend to, which were simple enough. Then, two staff meetings he had to spearhead. Said meetings involved him leaving the sanctuary of his office. Leaving the sanctuary of his office meant that he would probably see Semi waiting in the lounge; which he was. Although, up until he twisted the door handle, he swore he heard murmurs of conversation from what sounded like Futakuchi and Semi. The specifics weren’t audible, but he was pretty sure he heard something like “you’re fucking dead.”

As soon as Kuroo stepped out, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Futakuchi pretended to look busy with something on his desk. Kuroo didn’t even chance looking over in Semi’s direction.

Apparently, dreading something made it incredibly difficult to focus. The meetings seemed to happen in slow motion in front of him, but he couldn’t hear a word that was being said. Afterwards, he had to ask one of the office clerks for the minutes to review at a later date. Possibly when Semi wasn’t around to mess with his head.

The meetings were his last schedules of the day. He returned to his office, sat on his chair, and let out a sigh. Maybe it would have been better if he had sent Semi home. After all, Kuroo didn’t really owe him anything. He could have gone about his life without ever seeing nor speaking to Semi again, if he wanted to.

Was he secretly some kind of masochist?

Fingers loosen the tie around his collar, and then in a last-minute decision pulls it off altogether. His suit jacket is also discarded, folded nearly next to him. White button down with the first two buttons unbuttoned (it was getting increasingly difficult to breathe the closer the impending meeting approached), sleeves folded, he takes in what was supposed to be a relaxing breath and dials Futakuchi’s line.

“Show him in.”

A minute later Semi enters. He’s wearing black slacks and an equally black t-shirt, looking more casual than most people who requested a meeting. Kuroo decides to ignore the uncomfortable skip inside his chest.

“What did you need to speak to me about so badly that you wasted an entire day waiting?”

Semi approaches him. Kuroo wishes he wouldn’t. He’s stopped right in front of him, not bothering to sit on either of the two couches available and is instead towering over Kuroo’s seated frame from across the dark-oak desk. “Tell me something.”

Kuroo leans back against his chair, a perfectly mastered poker face resting upon dimmed features (fun fact: Kuroo disliked bright lights, and therefore had every light in his office switched with yellow light bulbs). “Tell you what?”

“Why are you doing a job that you hate?”

He tenses. “Whether I hate it or not is really no business of yours.”

“You _do_ hate it, then.” Semi had this look in his eyes, as if he could see right into the depths of Kuroo’s soul. As if he was analyzing it.

“Why do you assume that I hate it? I haven’t told you anything that would make you think so.”

“You aren’t hiding it. You looked miserable that day you interrupted my kitchen staff and pulled me away, you looked miserable when you were seated in that kitchen waiting for me, you looked miserable going to your meetings, you look miserable now. You’re miserable.”

“If this is all you came here to say, feel free to leave and shut the door behind you.”

“The only time you didn’t look miserable was when you were tasting my food.”

Well, shit. He knew _this_ conversation was coming. “You’re a good chef.”

“Why do you think I made it?”

Kuroo furrowed his brows, the first sign of any kind of emotion he let wash over his expression. Not that that was stopping Semi from reading him like an open book. “What?”

“I told you that you that you would know after tasting my dish why I made it. Why do you think I did?”

“Because you’re having a lot of unadulterated fun toying with me. You want so badly to prove that you’re above me. You want to throw a wrench into this system, _my_ system, because you want to see it go up in flames. I’m inadequate. I don’t have enough experience. I’ll ruin this company, and you want a front row seat to watch it all unfold. Isn’t that right?” His tone is eerily calm for the words he’s saying. But there is no mistaking it. He’s angry. The lid to the box he’s kept closed is being pried open, violently, and without mercy. “Everything I stand for you disapprove of. I stomp around here pretending as if I have the upper hand when I’m really less talented than you are, and that pisses you off. I don’t deserve to have this position. I don’t deserve this role. I don’t deserve to have people worship the ground I stand on.”

“Kuroo-san.”

“I’m weak. Someone who’s weak can’t fill the shoes of the chairman who was forced out. I should have stayed silent and allowed someone else with better credentials to take over. I’m—”

“Stop.”

Kuroo’s losing his resolve. He’s losing his cool. Why was it that he was always losing himself whenever Semi was there? What was it about this cog that was ruining the smoothly running system that had existed? “Well, I’m sorry I’m such an eyesore to you, Mister I-Hate-Corporate. But I have to do this. These people depend on this company to sustain them. There are people here who’ve been here for the whole forty years it’s been in operation. There are people my father hired himself. These people counted on him and are counting on me. I’m not going to turn business over to a stranger who will have the power to raise hell and turn things to _shit_. Yes, I fucking hate it. But I’m doing what I have to do. Does that answer satisfy you? Are you happy that you’ve pulled that out of me?”

“Stop!” Semi’s shout reverberates against the walls. Things fall silent. Kuroo’s out of breath, _again_.

“What I made today, that was your essence.”

“…Sorry, what?”

“That dish? It’s your essence. It’s who you are. This,” Semi’s gesturing toward Kuroo, the sleep-deprived Kuroo, the miserable Kuroo, the cracked Kuroo, “isn’t who you are.”

“You’re not a fucking therapist. Don’t come in here acting all high and mighty, as if you’ve solved a puzzle. I’m not something to solve. I don’t need you to analyze me. I don’t need you to try and help me.”

Semi continues as if Kuroo hadn’t said anything. “I saw it the day I met you. You were wound up so tight I was surprised you hadn’t cracked yet. All that bullshit about the company, the _international outreach_, you looked disgusted with it.”

“I’m warning you right now, Eita Semi. Stop talking.”

“Food shouldn’t make you miserable. Cooking isn’t a misery-inducing activity. You said I looked at _you_ with contempt? You looked at _me_ with contempt. You looked like you envied me whenever I spoke about my cooking. You want it, don’t you? You want what I do.”

Kuroo rises from his seat. Slow steps are taken around his desk. And then an arm reaches for the collar of Semi’s t-shirt, a forceful hand slamming him into the nearest wall. “You sure like to talk a whole lot.”

Semi doesn’t look fazed. Not even a smidge. Despite the fact that Kuroo’s features have darkened, his eyes flash with a pool of anger, his fingers are rough against his neck, Semi doesn’t look fazed. “Let go.” The both of them know that he isn’t talking about his shirt collar bunched up into Kuroo’s fist, but slowly, gradually, his grip loosens, and eventually falls. Semi looks before him and sees the resolve of a man crumbling. Kuroo is falling apart before his very eyes, and the pitiful thing was that it was all inside. At least if it was physical, it could be treated and dressed. Unfortunately, internal pain was something that was branded into your being. Branding wasn’t easy to get rid of.

“I can’t.” Kuroo’s voice falters. It’s weak. His gaze is directed elsewhere. The red that soaked his aura has turned into a grim grey.

“I made you that dish today because I wanted you to see yourself. You’re right, I hate the fact that cooking has been made into another capitalist feat. I hate seeing something so valuable being diminished and sold as if it was a meaningless commodity. But what I hate more than that is someone who knew all that about cooking and still voluntary snuffed the light out, destroying themselves to see it through.”

“You don’t know a single thing about me.” His words lack the strength to punch the point home. He takes a stumbling step back.

“Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”

“Stop reading them.”

“Then stop using them to scream for help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm thinking, after the main part of this story is over, that i want to add a small little sequel re-telling the story through semi's perspective. maybe an extra chapter or two. it wouldn't be an exactly event-by-event re-telling, but just a bit more of what was going through semi's head while everything was going down :]


	4. martyr.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kuroo is, again, not fine. not fine at all.

Kuroo needs to sit. He feels lightheaded and his knees feel as if they’re on the brink of buckling. It was as if he had been able to survive through sheer willpower alone, and now that that willpower has been torn apart by the hands of Eita Semi, he can’t find the strength he lost.

He needs to sit.

Hands reach out behind him as he continues to stumble backwards until he feels a leather arm rest underneath his hands. He feels pathetic. He let a complete stranger shatter him. A complete stranger had to lecture him. A complete stranger.

Semi was a complete stranger.

So why didn’t he feel like one?

In a daze, he manages to sit himself down. So many thoughts are tangled up in his head he doesn’t know which one to unpack first. He doesn’t know how he’s going to sort through them all. He needs something. He needs an anchor. He can feel himself spiralling—

Suddenly, in front of him, Semi’s face. His features. Not smug, not proud, but profound. His frame is leaned forward, resting his weight on the two hands that are placed on both arm rests. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Kuroo can’t do that, either. He can’t say he was wrong, because he wasn’t. He can’t look even look Semi in the eyes. He can’t do anything.

“Tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He’s so close he can feel his breath dancing along his cheek. He can feel heat, his body heat. He smells softly of soap. His heart is beating so fast its pounding in his ears, and Semi’s staring at him so intensely he feels bare. For the briefest second, Kuroo entertains the idea of kissing him. It comes out of nowhere, hits him like a wave, and nearly threatens to make itself a reality, had it not been for Iwaizumi’s _buzz killing_ voice going round and round in his head – _You can’t like him. Admire him as a chef , and nothing more. You can’t like him. Admire him as a chef, and nothing more. You can’t like him. _He wasn’t wrong. But Kuroo wasn’t concerned about what such engagements would do to _him_. He was worried about what it would do to Semi’s career. He didn’t know him all that well, but knew him enough to know that Semi couldn’t lose this. Besides, it was likely that in Semi’s eyes, Kuroo was just a pathetic, feeble excuse for a human being that he couldn’t help but save. That was probably all.

“Why do you care so much? You’ve made your point.”

“I’m a sucker for martyrs.”

That comment is enough to draw Kuroo’s eyes to those before him. A hint of a smile is playing on Semi’s expression, but not one of usual jest and mockery. It was soft. It was genuine. It was playful.

He was his anchor.

All this time, he had thought of Semi has the sole destroyer of his resolve. Certainly, sometimes, he was. He caused pieces that were barely holding on to fall apart. But he was also keeping the pieces from piercing him on their way down. This non-complete stranger had ripped him apart and was putting him back together again.

“That’s morbid.”

A laugh. Semi’s laugh. It was melodic, lightweight, and seemed to dance through the air around them. He straightens up. “Cook me something.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I gave you a revelation. Don’t I deserve a meal, at least? I waited all day out there for you as you pretended to be too busy to see me.”

***

They’re back at the kitchen Semi had occupied that day. Except that this time, it’s Kuroo standing in the kitchen space. He feels a little awkward, as if he was stepping into a childhood house that has long lost all traces of him and belonged to a new family. He isn’t even really sure how he got talked into doing this. He hadn’t cooked in years. 

“You’re a lot nicer to me now than you were when we first met. What is that? Time release etiquette?” He needs to make a quip to make himself more comfortable, otherwise he would just be moseying in the kitchen without purpose and stiffly trying to get comfortable in it again.

“I hate pretence.” The answer was so simple. Kuroo could see it, though. It made sense, with what little he knew about Semi’s personality. “You were pretending to be someone you weren’t. Why would I humour you and keep up that game?”

“Because I’m your boss.”

“You feel more like my disciple.”

Kuroo shook his head with a snort, looking through some of the available knives to see which one called to him. He would let his soul pull him. He would stop trying to suppress it. He would make something that was who he really was.

He owed himself that.

“I haven’t cooked properly in three years. I think I’ve forgotten everything.”

“Do I need to be your tutor, too?”

“You know, I really need to figure out a way to shut you up.”

“If you _really_ wanted to shut me up, there are several ways you could have done it.”

Was that suggestive? Kuroo feigns disinterest regardless, only because he isn’t even sure how _he_ feels about the whole thing yet. The whole thing being Semi. They had known each other for approximately two days, that was hardly enough time to know anything concrete. There was an inkling, though…

“I don’t know what fantasies you’re brewing in that twisted head of yours, but leave me out of them.” The refrigerator, the cabinets, everything is being opened and he pulls out what he’s most drawn to. There had to be something within those items that he could use to make something remotely edible.

“Then let’s talk about something else. Your comment about my dish today; what did you mean by it?”

Kuroo hesitates for a split second. “What comment?”

“Drop the act.”

“I didn’t mean it about you.”

“You ran off before you could tell me what you _did_ mean by it.”

Semi was ridiculously good at this. He had a knack for doing what most people couldn’t do, even with years of friendship: let Kuroo divulge information that, in any other situation, he wouldn’t. It was like Semi was always reaching into the depths of his soul. It was like he had made a home there. When Semi spoke, it was as if he was pulling parts of Kuroo’s soul with him, engulfing him little by little, replacing the shell Kuroo had built. Replacing, or breaking.

“Your dish was beautiful.”

“Elaborate.”

“Are you this pushy to other customers who give you compliments on your cooking?”

“Just you.”

A clearing of his throat. His hands are busy opening a bag of almonds. “It made me feel free.”

And, just as good as Semi was at ripping open his protective shield, he was also good at straddling the threshold between enough and too much. He didn’t ask any more questions about the judgement Kuroo had made. Maybe he could sense that Kuroo wasn’t ready yet. Maybe he pitied him, after the emotional hell he had put him through that night. Maybe he had gotten everything he needed.

For the first time in three years, Kuroo had cooked something. For the first time ever, Kuroo had cooked something personally for an individual that wasn’t a business partner, judge, or his father.

The first time he’s cooked in three years, and it was for Eita Semi.

***

It took about an hour for the dish to materialize into something. During that hour were sporadic bouts of conversation. But the conversation never lagged. Then, they decided to play a game of _one question, one answer_. One would ask a question, the other would answer it in a sentence. Through that, Kuroo learned a few things: Semi was an only child, his mother and father lived in Paris because of his father’s work as an art dealer, he lived in a loft ten minutes away from the restaurant, he hated shellfish even though most of the dishes at _Leaves_ contained them, and he never wore white because he hated how easily it got stained.

His mind was thinking all of these things as he prepared Semi’s dish. It wasn’t a menu item. It wasn’t anything he had been served before. It was thought up on a whim at eleven at night at the academy kitchen after falling apart and being protected from the fallout. It was a manifestation of everything he had kept in.

What scared him wasn’t the fact that Semi would be tasting something created by his own hands. It was the fact that Kuroo was comfortable being this vulnerable with someone who had a biting tongue and sharp verbal reflexes. He could bare his soul onto a plate, and he trusted Semi with it. Wasn’t that more trust than could be socially acceptable to give to someone on the second day of knowing them?

When the dish had been presented, Semi didn’t ask what it was or for any explanation as to its inspiration or message. He merely thanked him, and then cut off a bite with a fork. Kuroo’s looking at Semi’s expression expectantly, waiting for something to present himself so he would know what he thought of it. No such betrayal filtered through the stoic expression. Not until finally, after three bites, Semi looked up at him with a smile so tender it squeezed at his chest a little.

“This is you.”

***

They had parted ways well after two in the morning. Kuroo offered to call a car to take him home, but Semi refused with just about the most revolted look on his face. “Don’t make me regret spending all this time with you.”

Semi really wanted nothing to do with Kuroo privilege. That was both refreshing and amusing.

Before they walk in their separate directions, a piece of paper is offered up to Kuroo. It was small, folded perfectly into fours. He doesn’t say what it is, just thanks him for the food, and is on his way off. It’s only in the car that Kuroo opens up the paper, noticing how it’s been folded along a perfect axis so carefully and with a hand as careful has he dressed the plate this morning, and risks a smile. The _smallest_ smile.

***

It’s ten in the morning before he has any sort of break in which he can utilize what’s been given to him. A rather passive move coming from such a brazen spirit in a 5’11 body.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : You couldn’t ask me outright for my number? You had to sneakily give me yours without saying what it was?

[ eita semi ] : Convention is boring.  
[ eita semi ] : Sorry I kept you up last night. You must be dying.  
[ eita semi ] : You look dead all the time anyway, but I still feel bad. Your poor employees, having a zombie chairman.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Speaking of employees, shouldn’t you be at work right now?  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Texting on the job … I’m going to have to write you up.

[ eita semi ] : It just so happens that today is my second day off this week.  
[ eita semi ] : Don’t be too disappointed, I know you probably got all excited thinking of my punishment.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : I’m surprised you aren’t berating me for still showing up to the job I hate.  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : I expected you to threaten me with medieval torture. 

[ eita semi ] : We all do things at our own pace.  
[ eita semi ] : I just helped you realize what a gigantic, idiotic mistake you were making.  
[ eita semi ] : When you decide to rectify that is up to you.  
[ eita semi ] : By the way, how is Futakuchi this morning?

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : If you were inevitably going to be nice to me, why were you so annoying when we met—  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Futakuchi-san? My assistant?

[ eita semi ] : I changed my mind about you.  
[ eita semi ] : Yes, Futakuchi-san, your assistant. How many other Futakuchis do you know?

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Why did you change your mind?  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Never mind about the being nice thing, it was clearly a fluke.  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : He seems fine. Relatively.

[ semi eita ] : Because of your dish yesterday.  
[ semi eita ] : He almost beheaded me yesterday while I was waiting for you. Something about jeopardizing his job. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him, he said he was going to kill me like ten times.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : What about it?  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : That was really him? I thought I was hearing things. Also, since when do you know Futakuchi?

[ semi eita ] : Nothing reveals more about a person than the kind of food they make. Shouldn’t you know this, being the chairman of a food corporation?  
[ semi eita ] : Since college. He’s always been annoying.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Enlighten me.  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : He’s a good assistant. He cursed me out once when he thought I couldn’t hear him.

[ semi eita ] : No.  
[ semi eita ] : No surprise there. That’s him being tame.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Shouldn’t I know what my food is saying about me?  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : You two were delinquents, weren’t you. Thugs. Gangsters. Juvenile criminals.

[ semi eita ] : It’s going to take a lot more than that to get the answer to that question.  
[ semi eita ] : Wow, how did you know? We were the most wanted mobsters in pre-school.

***

A few days later, another mobile exchange took place.

[ eita semi ] : Why haven’t you said anything about my hair colour yet?  
[ eita semi ] : It was in the employment contract.  
[ eita semi ] : You looked like you were about to scold me that day you barged into my kitchen uninvited.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : Say what? It looks good on you.

***

“What do you look so content about?” Daichi mused, hands wrapped around the mug of black, black, black coffee. The coffee shop was bare, aside for them. Then again people usually weren’t awake at the crack of dawn to open a restaurant.

“I found it.” Semi’s watching as the sky starts to crack into colour, grayish and gloomy. Whatever the opposite of pathetic fallacy was, that was what was happening right then.

“Found what?”

“Someone I want to cook for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've finally finished pre-writing this story! it'll consist of seven chapters. but i love this universe so much that, after this story is finished, there will be both a prequel-esque story and a sequel!! the prequel will dive more into semi's perspective, and the sequel will follow a new couple, in which one character has already made an appearance :] i want to thank everyone for reading this, and also my other stories ♡ don't fear, i definitely haven't forgotten about my unfinished works!


	5. light.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kuroo definitely does NOT have a crush. nope.

“He’s good looking!” Hitoka Yachi is giggling as if she’s uncovered the world’s greatest treasure. Kuroo had long tuned them out, mentally debating between ordering the pricey smoked salmon or the tuna tadaki, but then Bokuto is asking who, and the name Yachi says nearly makes Kuroo choke.

“Eita Semi!”

Eyes slowly look up from the menu. “What?”

“Iwaizumi-san told me everything!” Her thumb is pointing to said traitor seated next to her, who simply shrugged as if it couldn’t be helped.

Bastard.

“Oh, the guy we saw yesterday!” 

“Can we change the sub— Huh? _You_ saw him too?”

“Yeah, we went to his restaurant. Iwaizumi-san said you had a crush on this chef, and Bokuto-san and I know nothing about cooking, so obviously we didn’t who he was, and so we just went to check him out!”

“I don’t have a crush.”

“He totally does.” Iwaizumi interjected, and at Kuroo’s glare shoots back the most obnoxious smile.

“Anyway, we went, and the food was _so good_, so we asked to speak to the chef and he came out and he had the craziest hair and was kind of quiet but wow!”

Kuroo sighed, fingers rubbing at his temple in an attempt that maybe it would transport him to another dimension where he didn’t know this group of people and could live in peace and tranquility.

No such thing happened.

“He came out looking ultra serious and at first we didn’t know he was the chef because he had like beige hair?”

“It’s brown.” Kuroo corrected, a reflex, because was Bokuto blind? It was brown. It was a brown that suited him. Of course, after realizing a second later that he had wedged himself into this conversation and then didn’t just let Bokuto’s misstep go, which made Kuroo look all the more suspicious, he cleared his throat and pretended as if he hadn’t said anything.

Too late, though, with this lot.

“You would know.” Iwaizumi, the first hit.

“Right, your boyfriend’s hair is brown.” Bokuto, the second hit.

“So handsome!” Yachi, the third hit.

“Okay, so, he had _brown_ hair,” Bokuto made sure to emphasize it, earning him an elbow to his rib, “Ow! I was complimenting your boyfriend!”

“He isn’t mine. And why are you two stalking him? Leave him be.”

“It wasn’t stalking, it was a stake out! We had to make sure he was good enough for you, and first impressions are everything in this day and age.”

“Yeah! Like Yachi-chan said! I think we’ll need to formally meet him though, to get a final opinion…”

“No.”

“Eh?! Why?!”

“Eat your damn fish.”

***

After dinner, the group split on their way home. Bokuto and Yachi lived further in the city, and so decided to take the train. Iwaizumi and Kuroo, on the other hand, lived closer to the Tetsuro property.

“Thanks for telling Bokuto and Yachi, you asshole. Thanks,” Kuroo mutters as soon as Bokuto and Yachi are out of ear shot.

Iwaizumi snickers a little. “You brought that upon yourself.”

“And aren’t you the one that told me not to let anything happen?”

“_Has_ something happened?”

Something _almost_ happened. But Kuroo wasn’t about to open that can of worms and incur Iwaizumi’s wrath. “No.”

“Do you want something to happen?”

That was a loaded question. “I don’t want anything to happen to him because of me.”

“Things likely will.”

“I know.”

***

Kuroo sees Semi again that next week. Seeing each other on work days was virtually impossible, if not because of scheduling conflicts, then because of the duration of their work days. Semi, as Kuroo found out, worked from pre-opening to post-closing. Sometimes that was well over twelve hours of work a day, which meant over sixty hours per week. The two days off he had were usually spent catching up on sleep and keeping himself from getting burnt out. Kuroo, on the other hand, worked upwards of fifteen hours a day. It hadn’t been as gruelling for his father, but only because years of experience had built a stable routine in which he got accustomed. Kuroo was in his second year of trying to keep the company gears from running smoothly, something which was inevitably difficult for someone who didn’t have the relevant experience to do so. And while Kuroo thought he had a day off per week, Semi corrected him with the most disappointed look, telling him that any day in which he does work-related activities means it’s not a day off.

Semi doesn’t push the topic of Kuroo’s job again. That doesn’t mean Kuroo’s forgotten about it. Even while working, in the small gaps of space in which he can take a breath and collect himself again, he’s thinking about it. He’s thinking about what he’s doing. He’s thinking that what the employees need is an impassioned leader, not a passive figurehead. He’s thinking that he doesn’t think he can last long doing this as he’s been doing it. But he’s also thinking that his father is depending on him. His family is depending on him. He’s thinking that if he stepped down selfishly, someone who could be worse than he was would step in and ruin everything. He’s thinking that, although he isn’t perfect and he’s by no means his father, he couldn’t throw the company into the waiting hands of the first person who wanted it and run away.

In other words, he was thinking. There’s a tornado brewing in his mind. Its winds are harsh, whipping around here and there with fury and unprecedented destruction. It’s dark. In it, he’s always on the brink of drowning.

Semi makes everything stop.

With Semi, his mind is quiet and completely still.

Its at peace.

Kuroo was always thinking what it was about him that gave him that power. Semi wasn’t like Iwaizumi, whom he’s known for years upon years. Semi was someone he had met by chance two weeks ago. Semi was someone he didn’t even know existed until two weeks ago. And yet, somehow, he held this incredible amount of his soul in his hands.

He thought about it.

One day, he found the answer.

Anyone with working eyes could see that Kuroo was unhappy. It didn’t deter him from his work, nor did he use it as an excuse to slack. Clients, chefs, employees—they acted as if they didn’t notice. But it was there. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion, but rather, the spirit that was beginning to die from the inside out.

Anyone with working eyes could see that Kuroo was unhappy. Semi was the one person who acknowledged it. He didn’t expect Kuroo to endure. He didn’t expect Kuroo to sustain him. He didn’t expect Kuroo to man up and get the job done. He didn’t sit idly by and watch as a light began to dim.

He was saving it from going out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slightly shorter chapter than usual, but it's something to tide you all over until i've gotten a significant amount of the new works outlined! :]


	6. someone i want to cook for.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the ship is finally sailing.

“Too much ginger.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Yeah, there is.”

Semi scowled in Kuroo’s direction before throwing the hand towel atop the counter. “Fuck.”

They were currently on their third hour of taste testing. Or, rather, _Kuroo_ was on his third hour of taste testing. Semi was on this third hour of perfecting this new dish he wanted to add to the restaurant’s menu. At eight in the morning Semi had messaged him saying that he was in trouble and needed help right away. He sent over an address, and Kuroo, thinking that something _actually _warranting such a cry for help had happened, rushed over. The address led to a low-rise loft building. There were three floors; Semi was on the third. It didn’t look modern, but wasn’t terribly old, either. The fact that this was Semi’s place, that Kuroo was going to Semi’s place, hadn’t exactly dawned on him until it was too late to backtrack; too late as in he had already rang the doorbell. The door opened to an annoyed Semi shoveling something into Kuroo’s mouth.

“How does that taste?”

“I—What the hell is wrong with the texture of this thing?”

Semi disappeared further into the confines of his apartment with a string of profanities, doing nothing less than demanding Kuroo to follow him. His place was bare. Only the bare necessities, and nothing extra. It looked exactly like his office—devoid of any other purpose other than the exact purpose it was supposed to serve.

As Semi cooked (and swore), Kuroo returned emails on his phone. Futakuchi usually handled most inane correspondence, leaving to him more of the important discussions. In between, he would taste variations of the dish that had been shoved into his mouth when he arrived. Kuroo couldn’t help but think Semi’s life as a chef would be made a lot easier (and a lot more interesting) if he used the technique he had used when cooking Kuroo that dish the day after they had first met. But that kind of thing couldn’t work at a high-end restaurant, especially not with the number of clients that came in, and the amount of time it would take to construct and then manifest a dish specific to _each_ person. Kuroo had chanced asking him about it, still dumbfounded, but Semi wouldn’t explain the process in much detail. He had simply said that it had something to do with the eyes.

Was that what Semi meant when he told Kuroo that his eyes were telling him everything he needed to know?

“It was in there too long.”

“What was in where too long?”

“The ginger. It’s too strong.” He isn’t even sure Semi is hearing what he’s saying, he was too busy glaring at the head of ginger on top of the cutting board. “For someone who was all critical of _me_ doing work on my days off, you sure are torturing yourself trying to finish that over there.”

The sound of Semi’s mind working is practically audible.

“Do you want my help?” Kuroo’s sure that Semi’s already lost in the million and one ways he could try and fix this dish to hear him. He just thought he would offer. But Semi actually does respond, and his response surprises him.

“Yes.” It’s a little strained, as if it had to be forced out.

His phone is placed on the kitchen table, lifting himself from the wooden chair and then peering over Semi’s shoulder at the paper that once had a clean, typed up recipe and was now practically a white page coloured with red ink. It takes him less than ten seconds to spot the issue.

“Not enough honey.” And with that he plops back down onto the chair and picks up his phone again. In his absence, ten responses. His fingers are typing the routine _Good morning_ to begin a reply when his phone is suddenly plucked from between his hands and dangled over him. “I was writing something—”

“Why don’t you work as a chef?”

That stung. Unintentionally, of course. Hearing that reminded him just how much he couldn’t. Not right now. He wasn’t finished thinking things through yet with his chairmanship. Even if he were to quit, he would have to draft some sort of proposal to present to the committee and to his father about the future of the company and how it could be run without him. Oh, and the little issue of _family obligation_ and _legacy_. “I already have a job.”

“One that wastes your talent.”

“Not all of them. It’s a great opportunity to show off my penmanship, my ability to use sticky notes, and highlight in a straight line. What else could compete?”

“Cut the crap.”

Kuroo never noticed how many walls he had up until Semi made an annoying habit of pointing them out every time they went up. He’s a little paranoid that soon enough Semi will recognize the much larger wall that’s standing before him, an important wall that’s keeping his heart a sizeable distance away. Something in his expression shifts, unbeknownst to him. “I’m thinking.”

Apparently, that was enough of answer to satisfy him. His phone is tossed (literally tossed) back to him, and Semi returns to work. They spend the day like that, in comfortable silence, bursts of bickering, a bittersweet glaze on a blossoming bond.

***

“You’re a minute late.”

“Blame Futakuchi-san, not me.” Kuroo is far more casual than he can remember ever being. Usually at home, when he’s _at_ home, he falls asleep in his work clothes. It’s in the morning, after his shower and breakfast, that he changes into another uncomfortable suit. Wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a windbreaker was a weird thing for him.

Semi is even more casual than he is. Jeans and those black jogging pants that everybody and their mother was wearing these days. Even so, he was—

Mental stop.

He had gotten a message the previous day while he was at work that roughly said the following:

Are you free tomorrow? Don’t answer that, I know you are, I asked Futakuchi. Meet me at this address at eight pm.

Semi wouldn’t give him any other details, no matter how much he asked. However, that wasn’t the only reason this whole thing felt bizarre. Kuroo can’t remember the last time he went out somewhere for leisure, and not business. He’d occasionally meet with Bokuto, Iwaizumi and Yachi for a simple dinner once every few weeks, but other than that, he didn’t have the time to be frolicking here and there for fun. Even now, he was sure there were hundreds of messages waiting for him, emails with proposals he needed to approve, shipments and vendor lists he had to look through, and thousands upon thousands of papers that needed his signature or initial.

His whole world stopped for Semi.

“Also, what is this place? It’s—it’s a little shady.” The address led to a hole in the wall joint, somewhere so hidden Kuroo thought it was the wrong location initially. It was away from the main road, in an alley that was hauntingly quiet and deserted.

“I didn’t bring you here to kill you, don’t worry. Follow me.” A door painted completely black (as if that wasn’t suspicious or goosebump-worthy) is opened, and Semi steps inside. Kuroo follows. What he sees is completely unexpected.

The place was bright. It was warm. The lights were a faint orange-ish. It was small, so there were only maybe twelve tables in total. Two were already occupied. It was so different from the restaurants that he frequented; it wasn’t high end, there weren’t people ready on command to pull open your chair, hand your coat, present you with five different kinds of water, fill your glass and wait on you. But it was clean. It was cozy. The soft hum of a classical tune is playing in the background, filled with gaps of toned-down conversation. Semi chooses a table that is the furthest away from the kitchen in the back and the other two occupied tables to the right of them, and Kuroo follows suit. “What is this place?”

“Somewhere you’ll like.”

Warm tea is brought to their table, along with two menus. Vietnamese food. And, coincidentally, it happened to be cuisine he very much enjoyed. “How is it that you know these things about me? Things I’ve never even told you?”

He thinks he sees a small curling of the lips upwards. “Your eyes.”

“My eyes can tell you my preferred foods now?”

“They’re very expressive.”

“I wish they’d shut the hell up, then.”

A pause. “I like them.”

Kuroo can feel, physically _feel_, his heart skip a beat or two. He doesn’t address it nor acknowledge it, pretends as if he’s preoccupied with reading the listed dishes, but somehow, he knows that it wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought.

The rest of the dinner was tranquil. That was something desperately missing from his life. He was always going, moving, jetting forwards at lightning speed without looking at what he was leaving behind. He can’t help but wonder what other beautiful things he missed trying to rush ahead.

Kuroo promises, as it comes to a close, that the next time he’ll be the one to take Semi someplace. When Semi asks where, Kuroo responds: “Somewhere you’ll like.” On the way to the train station, the train station Kuroo hasn’t been to in years, he asks Semi about his job, his past, and his aspirations. He’s curious about this person who came in and violently tore down bricks only to cradle light. He’s curious about this person who very suddenly and very quickly became the center of his world.

A year ago, Iwaizumi had asked him how he planned on not dying alone if he was tied to his job. Kuroo had answered that he just had to find someone he wanted more than he wanted his work. He wasn’t expecting to find it in the mouthy smart ass who told his boss his fourth day on the job that he didn’t care about him nor his company.

In front of Semi’s front door, before he opens it, he turns to Kuroo and asks him the question he’d been dreading. “How do you feel about me?”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

A grin breaks across the stoic surface. “And?”

“Why do you ask questions like you already know the answer?”

“Why do you avoid answering questions that you already know the answer to?”

Kuroo can feel the words on the tip of his tongue. In the dark, under a single streetlamp, in front of a home and a place of living, he thinks maybe a little is okay. Maybe he can lower the walls just a little. “It would ruin you. I don’t want that.”

“What are you being so melodramatic for?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I’m in it to cook. That’s all. Everything else is background music to a game I’m not playing.”

“Just because you aren’t playing doesn’t mean it won’t affect you.”

“If people will judge me as a chef on merits that don’t involve my actual ability, they were never in it for the food. And the opinions of people who were never in it for the food don’t affect me.”

Okay, so Semi was still as diffident as ever about it. Kuroo worried about it enough for the both of them. He didn’t want to be the reason why Semi’s light went out. In the short time he’s gotten to know him, there was one thing that was abundantly clear: his life was cooking. Kuroo would taint that, turn it into something grotesque and ugly. He didn’t want Semi to begin to hate something that he’s loved. He didn’t want Semi to _have_ to hate something he’s loved. He didn’t want him to have to give up something he’s loved. It wasn’t right.

“I’m scared.” The words, hushed, spread like a drop of water falling onto a still lake. Before he knew it, they were physically closer than they were when they _started_ this conversation. Face to face. Soul to soul.

“I’m right here.”

This was it. Kuroo could only imagine the face Iwaizumi was going to give him when he found out about this. He wouldn’t hear the end of it from Bokuto and Yachi. He had spent _weeks_ constructing an iron-clad wall to keep himself as separated from Semi as he possibly could be. In retrospect, he really hadn’t done a good job. It was true, these days it was getting harder to keep up the wall. Sometimes Semi would just _look_ at him, and he could feel a piece of the wall begin to crumble. A few days ago, in the midst of one of their many conversations, Semi had told him that he wished Kuroo could be happy. That was like a canon bursting through the core of the poorly-maintained wall.

“How do you feel about me?” The question is repeated, softly, words that are coated with so much apprehension and yet completely exposed. Little by little, Kuroo was starting to do it voluntarily, willingly, without being prodded.

“You’re someone I want to cook for.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows furrow at the words, trying to pick apart the context and the subliminal meaning. It was an unexpected answer. It was raw. And in a career where everything was sugar-coated, inflated, crafted, hidden—he wasn’t used to such blatant responses. “Someone you want to cook for?”

“Yeah.”

“…What does that mean—” Part of him is worried that maybe it isn’t what he thinks it means. Part of him is worried that maybe this whole thing is in his head. Part of him is worried that maybe, after seeing who Kuroo was behind the man that was never late, ran a corporation and didn’t once complain, Semi saw who he _actually_ was and was disappointed by what he saw.

“The first time I met you, I really wished an anvil would drop from the sky and crush you.” And with a completely straight face he said that. Kuroo is perplexed, amused, a little offended—

“I—Excuse me?”

“Getting that job was a point of pride; it was all about me. And then I saw you. I could see what was going on in your head: you hated your job, you hated your life, you hated the fact that you had to go all the way down there to reprimand a chef that didn’t know how lucky he was to be given a place to be a chef. Then I went to talk to you in your office. Everything I thought about you was right. You were acting as a shield for strangers, afraid that if you stepped down nobody would protect them. You were doing that for people you didn’t even know. You’re a good person. You’re a hell of a lot better than I am. I remember thinking then, looking at you getting all angry and bent out of shape, that someone like you didn’t deserve something like that. These people, me, everyone you were trying to protect—they, we, don’t deserve someone like you. I don’t think you were told that enough.”

One by one, the wall was being dismantled.

“But you were so stubborn about it. The way you looked—you did everything but superglue yourself in place so you couldn’t move. I honestly thought you wouldn’t be able to admit it, that you hated your job and you hated what you were doing. But you did. That’s when I figured it out. You weren’t someone who needed to protect others, you were the one that needed to be protected.” There it was. That smile. The same smile Semi had given him when Kuroo had made him that dish. “Do you know what your food said?”

He shakes his head, but it’s barely a coherent movement.

“Don’t leave. Wait for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter left until the closing of this story! i honestly didn't expect to love them as much as i do :[ the good news is: i've finished the prequel! it'll be posted in two parts soon ♡ after that's been posted, the sequel to this story with a new set of main characters will follow. i've also made a tell, which can be accessed here: https://tellonym.me/waywardway. feel free to send me comments, suggestions, things you liked, things you want to see more of, anything & everything! enjoy!!


	7. anchor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the conclusion.

Semi was doing it knowingly.

Semi wasn’t just Kuroo’s anchor; he _knew_ he was, and despite knowing that, he didn’t back away.

It hit him in a different way than it did when he thought it was all one-sided. After all, it was completely possible that Semi had no clue what he was to Kuroo, what kind of force he was in his life. Kuroo certainly didn’t mention it. But not only did he know, he took that responsibility.

The single thread holding together the remnants of the wall snapped.

He was tired of being afraid. He was tired of having to forcibly hold himself together at all costs, notwithstanding the consequences. Here, in front of him, was someone who saw right through all of that and still found someone worth protecting. He was done for, and nothing had ever felt so satisfying. He had spent so much time thinking, worrying, debating; he had wasted time consumed with guilt and feelings of self-loathing and worry.

That night, he let go. Kuroo was finally able to let go. Trembling hands reach out, cautiously because he doesn’t know what Semi is thinking or if this is okay or if he should maybe just go home for a breather, slowly because he wants Semi to turn away or tell him to stop if he doesn’t want it— — none of those things happen. Hands frame delicate features and he’s leaning in and the second their lips meet Kuroo sees stars in a burst of warmth and light; it was like being held from the inside out.

_Don’t worry. I’m here._

***

“I want to resign.”

The look on his father’s face mirrored the one Iwaizumi had when Kuroo had said the same thing to him earlier that day. “Kuroo, what’s this about?”

“Something has to change.” He had papers drawn up, which he had placed onto his father’s desk, but it looked as if his father was looking for a verbal, rather than a formal, explanation. “I’m not like you. I tried to be, I stretched myself as thin as I possibly could, but I can’t. And I’m worried about the future of this company if I keep up the pretence that I can do this well.”

“You took this role willingly. It wasn’t forced upon you.”

“I know. Me taking it was a mistake. I didn’t think it through.” But that wasn’t all he had went there to say. “I want to propose something.”

“I’m listening.”

“I don’t want to be you. This company has been yours from the beginning, and you passed it onto me. I’ve been trying to do things like you would do things, and I think that’s why it didn’t work.”

“Kuroo—”

“Let me finish, please. I want to resign as being your replacement. If I’m going to do this, if I’m really going to be the chairman, I want to do it my own way. That means splitting up the company into three and running it together.”

“Together?”

“I’ll be chairman. I’ll keep this company running. But I have plans. I want to do something with it, not just keep it alive. And that won’t happen if I have to oversee everything. So, the main operations of the company will be dealt with by me. But the academy and the restaurants will be split into sub-groups and operated separately.”

His father looks dubious. “I don’t know about this.”

“You would take charge of the academy. It isn’t demanding work; a third of the workload means that your health won’t suffer. And that academy needs your direction. It’s lacking it right now because I couldn’t give it that attention. I’ll keep core running.”

“And the restaurants?”

“I nominate Hajime Iwaizumi.”

***

It took a little less than two months to finalize everything. His father wasn’t convinced right away, Kuroo didn’t expect him to be, but in the end let Kuroo take the reigns. “No matter what happens, I can’t be to this company what I used to be. I trust you,” he had said. That meant more than Kuroo could even begin to explain.

Just as his father trusted him, he trusted Iwaizumi. And while it took some convincing to make Iwaizumi believe that it _was_ true and the restaurants really _would _be handed over to him to control and manage, the news elicited the most genuine smile he had seen from the sharp-tongued annoyance (friend) in a long time. Of course, that wasn’t before Kuroo had to come clean about Semi. He couldn’t exactly let his oldest friend walk into a potential landmine without warning him beforehand. Iwaizumi was concerned, which was what Kuroo expected, but right when he had finished mentally preparing himself for another lecture, he stared Kuroo right in the eyes and said, “If anyone talks any shit, they’ll have to deal with me. I _dare_ them to say something. Anything. See what happens.” The contracts are scooped up with a huff, and Iwaizumi storms off muttering something about “my friend can’t date in peace without these shitheads having an opinion on it. Let them! I’ll fight every last fucking one of them!” The next day, Futakuchi wrote in the company appointment book: “Iwaizumi-san: prone to profanities. Minimum 5-minute window needed in between appointments with Iwaizumi-san and other clients.”

Semi terminated his employment with the company a few weeks later. It wasn’t because of Kuroo, nor was it the pride that he had unabashedly flaunted the first day they met. Apparently, Semi’s professor had contacted him out of the blue one night, saying a friend of his was opening a restaurant and was looking for a head chef who would be a major contributor to the direction in which the restaurant would be going. Semi’s name had been recommended. When the news was brought up, it seemed as if Semi was weirdly apologetic about it, as if Kuroo would see it as betrayal. In reality, Kuroo saw it the opposite way. A restaurant untied to a larger umbrella company or corporation meant more culinary freedom and less restrictions, but also more of a time commitment and risk. That was the kind of place Semi needed to be at. If anyone could turn that place into a staple, it would be him. “I’m proud of you,” was the last thing Kuroo told him that night. Little did he know that that had been the first time Semi had heard those words.

With the separation of the company, Kuroo moved out of the company estate to somewhere a little more modest and away from the industrial bustle of activity; someplace with a lot more trees, less people, and more air. He had been suffocating in an abnormally large villa owned by an equally suffocating company for two years too many—he needed a change. He could be at peace knowing that two other, far more qualified individuals were helping him keep the company alive and well. Two people he trusted were helping him. He had finally asked for help. That had always been one of his main problems with the division of power before: dealing with everything meant he couldn’t deal with things individually. The restaurants, the academy, and even the main corporation, weren’t being give the individualized attention they required to thrive. Now they could be. Now they were. He knew some would see it as a form of weakness. Some would see it as him giving up. Some would see it as him running when the going got rough. He saw it as his own way of leadership. Kuroo didn’t have to do this alone, nor did he want to.

For the first time in a long time, Kuroo’s light was flourishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter :[ i love these two Way more than i thought i would, and hopefully this story was enjoyed by those who gave it a read ♡ if more kuroo & semi would interest any of you, just let me know, and i might cook something up :] don't fret just yet though, because the prequel will be coming your way very soon !! it'll be a sweet ending to this story, so please look forward to it ~


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